


Johannes Cabal and the Curious Competitor

by Moriri



Category: Johannes Cabal - Jonathan L. Howard, Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Horror, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriri/pseuds/Moriri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cabal is under quota, turfs are rudely infringed upon, and entropy - eventually - wins the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Johannes Cabal and the Curious Competitor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted via my Tumblr (professormorriarty.tumblr.com), written to celebrate Walpurgisnacht.
> 
> Little to no knowledge of Madoka Magica is required to enjoy this story. Only an appreciation for the strange & macabre - and you wouldn't be here if you didn't have one, would you?

“Something’s wrong.”

“Do you mean,” said Horst, languidly perched on the edge of Cabal’s desk, “ _aside_ from the demonic travelling carnival, having an undead husk for a brother and your tragically terminal case of criminal sociopathy?” He turned his head just enough to flash Cabal one of his most infuriating smiles. “Or have you finally realised the ugly truth of your existence?”

Cabal wrinkled his nose. “I don’t have time for your sarcasm. This is a serious issue.”

“Ah?” Horst leaned over, scrutinising his brother’s face. Even smoked lenses couldn’t hide anything from Horst’s keen eyes. “You’ve just now discovered the big splotch of tea you unknowingly dribbled on your waistcoat?”

“That’s not—What?” Cabal furiously brushed himself down as if someone had dumped a box of live tarantulas on his head. It wouldn’t have been the first time. “How long has it been there? I don’t see—”

“Relax. There is no stain. I just find your sad attempts at retaining decorum amusing.” Horst dismissively waved a hand, as if that somehow excused sending Cabal into a near-panic. “What seems to be the problem, dear brother?”

Cabal channeled his anger into the rather violent (and, it should be noted, ridiculous) flourish he gave as he thrust a piece of paper towards Horst. “ _This_.”

Horst gave it a brief inspection.

“…My, that _is_ wrong.” He nodded appreciatively. “You drawing up graphs in your spare time. Johannes, why didn’t you tell me you secretly pine for the life of an accountant? We could sit down and have a moving heart to heart about your—”

“I have been meticulously plotting the number of contracts signed over a given period of time.” Cabal spoke quickly, before his temper could flare. “The number varies from town to town and month to month, but the margin of error has consistently been plus or minus three.”

Cabal pointedly shook the paper. “Do you see what I’m getting at?”

Horst plucked it from Cabal’s fingers and made a show of squinting at the graph. “Ah. This little dip here.” He jabbed at the sheet. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

Cabal quickly snatched it back before Horst could somehow contaminate the paper with his… whatever made him so insufferable. “That _little dip_ means I’m beginning to drop dangerously behind schedule.”

“So maybe you’re losing your touch? Maybe your conscience has been slowly emerging from the dusty old crypt you thought you’d locked it away in?” Horst chuckled. “I’m sorry; even I think that was tasteless.” He sat back and crossed his legs. “Perhaps these last few towns have been exceptionally pious?”

“I doubt that. Have you already forgotten what happened last week?”

They both grimaced.

“I had to go out and buy new shoes.” Cabal sniffed.

“Shoes can be replaced, but the memory’s going to stick with me forever.” Horst shuddered. “Sometimes I forget people are so… _squelchy_.”

“They started it,” Cabal said. “And even if they didn’t, there isn’t anyone left to prove otherwise. But can we get back to the matter at hand?” He thoughtfully tapped the paper. “This decrease in productivity is too sudden and too consistent to be chalked up to mere bad luck.”

“Or good, depending on one’s perspective.” The comment raced merrily over Cabal’s head. “So you think other forces are at work, is that it?”

Cabal folded his arms. “ _Someone_ is trying to interfere again.”

“Well, he’s the father of lies, isn’t he? I’d be suspicious if he _did_ play fair.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to accept it.” Abruptly Cabal pushed back his chair and stood. “Come on. We’re going to investigate.”

Horst, affecting a look of bewilderment, craned his head back. “Sorry, we? I don’t recall you ever saying ‘please’.”

“Oh? Were you planning on spending your entire evening being a particularly gaudy paperweight?” Cabal threw on his jacket and then, after a moment’s deliberation, retrieved his Webley. It couldn’t hurt. “You can help me cover the grounds faster.” He made for the door of the carriage. “Now get off of my desk.”

* * *

 

The carnival was everything she expected it to be and more.

It was big and bright and loud, full of countless flashing lights and racing music and exotic exhibits designed to shock and awe and possibly nauseate. It carried a feeling of excitement, of another, grander world beyond the dull shuffle of everyday life, where good people go when they want to be bad, and where…

…Actually, if she were being honest with herself, it wasn’t _that_ interesting.

Sure, it only opened in the middle of the night, and some of the exhibits were certainly designed with an… _older_ audience in mind, and something about the atmosphere definitely left an uncanny taste in her mouth that couldn’t entirely be blamed on one too many goes on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

But a carnival was a carnival, sulfur-tinged popcorn or not. Strictly the domain of little children, and desperate adults hoping that the flashing lights and cheerful music will mask the creak of their ageing knees.

If she were being honest with herself, the _true_ appeal was in how all of her friends had gotten to go, and more importantly, how her parents had explicitly banned her from going, which had the curious effect of making the carnival the most interesting place in the world.

“Shows what they know,” she said moodily. “Not gonna stop me from sneaking out.” She scanned the grounds, debating whether she should buy a toffee apple before or after visiting the freak show, when—

“Do you desire freedom?”

The girl turned, perplexed, as she looked for the source of the voice.

“Wouldn't you like it if your parents weren’t so strict? That you were allowed to make your own decisions, and to do whatever you please, whenever you want?”

Wherever the voice was coming from, the sound was definitely out of place. For a carnival that seemed to revel in its own sordid atmosphere, it was surprisingly… _cute._

“Maybe you’d like to be the only one in control of your life?”

She blinked, and realised there was a stuffed toy sitting on the ground beside her feet. Or she _assumed_ it was stuffed, until she caught the swish of its puffy white tail and the twitch of its oversized ears.

“You have a wish for me, don’t you?”

The creature didn’t move its mouth, but it was definitely _speaking_ , and it was speaking to _her_.

“I can make your wish come true!”

A sensible girl might have sensed something was amiss. Or she might have hailed her friends to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination brought on by too much greasy food and spinning rides. Or she could have least taken the time to admire what had to be a breakthrough in the field of miniature animatronics.

After all, it walked towards her so smoothly, and the metered twist of its tail was fluid, and those eyes…

“All you have to do is form a contract with me.”

Wide and red and so very compelling…

“Form a contract, and in return, I’ll give you whatever you wish.”

She _did_ feel stifled, she realised, what with her nosey parents and their curfews and chores and homework and _rules_ and the creature was right, she was practically an adult and it _wasn't fair_ , she would _love_ the freedom to be her own person, this creature could help, this creature and its innocent smile and ruby-red eyes, this creature could…

Could…

“Aha!”

As is common for a teenage girl suddenly faced with a flurry of unexpected stimuli, she shrieked.

“Now, what do we have here?”

In the space of a breath, the creature had ceased its purposeful stride towards her, probably because it was too busy being hoisted in the air by the scruff of its neck.

“Trying to entice innocent young ladies, are we?” There was also a man standing before her that she was positive hadn’t been there two seconds ago. It was in his firm grasp the creature now wriggled and shook. “And what was that I heard you say? Something about a _contract?”_

The creature’s tail puffed out in alarm, like that of a feral cat being backed into a corner. Being already quite thick, of course, it didn’t make much of an impression. “I’m only trying to grant her a wish.” Its paws kicked out helplessly. “If you wouldn’t mind…”

“Oh, but I _do_ ,” the man said, wryly. Then, much to her surprise, he turned towards her.

In other circumstances, she might have found him handsome – albeit awfully pale – but things had gotten so weird so quickly that the only thought rolling around in her brain was now _leave_. Leave leave leave, don’t come back, forget this ever happened, and for heaven’s sake don’t binge on cheap candy floss ever again.

Before she could make a break for it, the man spoke. “I’m terribly sorry about this,” he said. “One of our… _mascots_ must have malfunctioned.” With his free hand, she watched him dig around in the pockets of his coat, the creature squirming all the while, until it emerged with a pair of tickets. “On behalf of the Cabal Bros., please accept these and my sincerest apologies.”

Still wary of any further surprises, she slowly plucked the tickets from his outstretched fingers, at which point he tipped his hat. “I bid you good evening, young lady. And,” he added, turning on his heel, “should you or any of your friends come across another one of, ah, _these_ ,” the creature bobbed in his hand, “kindly keep your distance and notify a member of our staff immediately. Many thanks.”

And then he was gone.

She stepped back, and shook her head.

Sensible girls, she realised, wouldn’t have snuck out their bedroom window to go to a carnival at eleven o’clock at night.

Her previous thoughts of _leave_ resurfaced, and it would have been wise to obey, but then she glanced at the tickets now clutched in her hand.

The man had been so nice, and it would be a shame to waste them.

Ah, well.

A few more rides couldn’t hurt.

* * *

 

“What the hell is this?” Johannes Cabal looked distinctly unimpressed – which was a step up from his usual ‘unimpressed and faintly murderous’– at whatever it was Horst had just dropped at his feet. “Did you win some cheap toy from the shooting gallery?” Cabal’s lip curled back in a sneer. “Really, Horst, you shouldn’t have.”

“Cheap toy? Johannes, you should know I’d only bring you something from the top shelf.” He smiled mysteriously at the white bundle lying on the ground. “This is a prize you’ll appreciate.”

“Yes, that’s right, we’re in the middle of a crisis and _you_ decided to soothe my nerves by wasting the time you _should_ have spent investigating playing stupi—it moved.”

Horst rocked on his heels. “It did.”

Cabal looked to the bundle, then to his brother, then back to the bundle again.

Then he wiped his smoked spectacles on his shirt, replaced them smartly on his nose, and then looked to the bundle once more.

Only it wasn’t a bundle any longer. It had sat up and stretched its paws and scratched at one of its long ears and it was _staring right at him_.

“I’m going to take a wild guess,” Cabal said, very flat, “and presume that _thing_ is the culprit.”

“That is the culprit,” Horst agreed. “Strange little fellow, isn’t he? Calls himself an Incubator.” Horst extended a hand and gestured amicably towards it. “He agreed to have a little talk with you on the condition that I wouldn’t immediately snap his neck.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” the Incubator intoned.

“And I’m sure you haven’t,” said Horst, “although I’m positive my brother would be _extremely_ curious to know why you were ambling about the grounds attempting to coerce people into forming contracts.”

Even the creature, whose face had remained a stoic mask throughout the evening thus far, flinched at the face Cabal made.

“Contracts, did you say?” Cabal had gone rigid; Horst reflexively took a step back. “How… _coincidental_.” The words were forced out like limbs through a wood chipper. “Would you care to explain?”

“It’s simple,” said the Incubator, which had more-or-less composed itself. “A person forms a contract with me, and in return I grant them a wish.” The rhythmic bobbing of its tail paused. “There’s more to it than that, of course, but the details aren’t important.” The swaying motion resumed. “A while ago, it was discovered that this carnival attracts a healthy population of young children, filled with powerful hopes and dreams—”

“And too much processed sugar,” muttered Horst.

“—and thus it became an efficient place to scout for anyone who might—”

“That’s enough.” For the second time that night, the creature found itself picked up against its will. “Disregarding the fact that even _I_ think the words coming out of your…” Cabal noted that the creature didn't seem to move its mouth, “… _skull_ sound alarmingly deviant and worthy of prosecution, I don’t need to hear the finer points of your operation.”

Cabal stared the Incubator right in its unblinking eyes. “The important thing is that you’re going to cease and desist, as of _right this second_ , or else you will find yourself a pile of steaming giblets trapped in the darkest circle of hell as you spend the rest of eternity thinking about what it is you’ve done.” He squeezed the creature’s neck for emphasis. “Are we clear?”

“As you can see,” said Horst, “my brother doesn’t take kindly to the concept of friendly competition.”

The creature might have looked bemused just then, if it was even possible for it to emote. “Competition?”

“Do not play games with me.” Cabal scowled. “I know what you’re trying to do. You go about forging contracts in exchange for someone’s soul before I have the opportunity to approach them myself.”

A long silence passed.

Well.

A silence beyond the shrill trilling of a nearby calliope and the distant shrieks emanating from the haunted coaster and the loud-mouthed cries of a barker or two.

Close enough.

Then, “How did you know?” said the Incubator. “About the souls. That comes as a surprise to most people.”

“I knew it.” Cabal thrust out his arm. “Horst, dispose of this monstrosity. You might even be able to make a tawdry waistcoat out of its fur.”

“Wait!” The creature began to struggle. “Wait! It wasn’t the intent to become your competition!”

“Oh?” said Cabal, carefully raising an eyebrow. “I suppose now you’re going to plead that you’re _not_ one of the devil’s own disciples sent to throw a wrench in my gears?”

“You’re correct. I’m not.” The Incubator, perhaps sensing that its eyes _weren’t_ going to be promptly squeezed of its skull, allowed itself to relax a little. “I hadn’t considered that someone else might be in the market for souls, too.”

Horst scratched at his chin. “And to think, just a short time ago I hadn’t even considered that there might be a market at _all_.” He casually nudged Cabal in the ribs. “Perhaps we might need to formulate a concrete business model in order to keep up with this booming industry. Maybe put up some posters, hold a hiring fair, that sort of thing.” Horst theatrically spread his hands. “The future of damnation is here.”

Cabal turned to glare at him. “You stay out of this.” He focused back on the creature, hearing the creak of his gloves as he tightened his hold. “So it was all happenstance that you decided to make this carnival your hunting ground? Is that it?”

“Yes.” The Incubator feebly raised a paw. “As I’ve told you, it was discovered that this place attracts many hopeful young faces, who—”

Cabal’s grip tightened further. “I’ve heard more than enough of your pseudo-paedophilic proselytising, thank you.” He hummed contemplatively to himself. “Somehow, the thought of wringing your neck doesn’t entice me any more. I believe I’d prefer to just shoot you instead. The sooner you’re disposed of, the better.”

“Hang on!” The Incubator flailed about in Cabal’s tense fingers. “What if I could help you?”

“Help me?” Cabal clucked his tongue. “Is that a promise to hold still while I pull the trigger?”

“Traditionally, Incubators deal with young girls, who experience a vast wealth of emotion and carry a great many wishes and beautiful dreams deep inside their hearts. They’re by far the best candidates.” Cabal was resisting the urge to gag. “But it’s not unheard of for us to offer our services to anyone who harbours enough feeling.

“I know that you have a wish,” said the creature, soft and sombre. “A desperate, powerful wish.”

Cabal went still.

“There’s something you want more than anything in the world; something for which you’d march through the scorching fires of Hell; something that drives you through every long day and every sleepless night.

"There is something that pushes you, fuels you, gives you the strength to fight and the will to live.

"Something you that you want; something that you _need_ ; something you desire with every last fibre of your cold, blackened heart.”

“Isn’t that right,” and the creature raised its gleaming red eyes, “Johannes Cabal?”

Cabal slackened his hold.

He licked his lips, and felt that his mouth had gone dry.

Horst was staring at him, a mixture of fear and concern on his face, but Cabal hardly cared.

He waited.

The Incubator stared, looking hopeful.

Cabal dropped it on the ground.

“No,” he said firmly, before it could protest. “Absolutely not.”

“But why not?” The Incubator crawled back on to its feet. “I can grant you anything you desire, Johannes Cabal. While it’s true that there are a few additional clauses in regards to your end of the contract - clauses that a man as aggressive as yourself would have no trouble fulfilling - I should think that one’s soul is a small price to pay for—”

“Even if I _wanted_ to form such a dubious partnership with you, which believe me, I don’t,” spat Cabal, “therein lies the problem.” He folded his arms. “I haven’t got a soul.”

The creature’s ears twitched.

“…What?”

“Why do you think I’m even out here collecting—You really _aren’t_ one of his cronies, are you?” Cabal pulled off his hat and exasperatedly ran a hand through his hair. “Then I have news for you. My soul is already accounted for.”

The way the Incubator slumped seemed to indicate disappointment.

“…I see.”

Not to be discouraged, it turned its shining eyes to Horst, and promptly received a shatteringly hearty chuckle in return. “Sorry, little fellow. Undead.” Horst patted his chest. “I’m afraid I haven’t got one, either.”

Resigned, the creature gradually returned to a neutral posture. “Oh, well. It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?” It stretched, and began a casual trot towards the noise and lights of the carnival.

Cabal whirled on his heel. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Me?” The Incubator craned its head back. It reminded him irritatingly of Horst attempting to be coy. “I still have work to do.”

Cabal nearly laughed, incredulous, but settled for a comfortably child-traumatising smile instead. “After all that we’ve discussed? Do you truly believe that to be the best course of action?”

“Yes. This is a job that must be done. You might not be able understand, Johannes Cabal, but the work of an Incubator is of paramount importance.” It looked to him, eerily backlit by the carnival’s glow, and flicked its voluminous tail. “In order to combat entropy, we must—”

The thunderous _boom_ of the Webley .577 echoed through the night, before quickly being swallowed by the nearby deluge of ambient noise.

Cabal waited for the twisting coils of smoke to drift up and into the atmosphere before calmly stowing the revolver.

“Was that really necessary?” Horst chided. He was doing his best not to look towards the red and white stain on the ground.

“He was, to use a colloquialism, in my turf.” Cabal primly smoothed out his coat. “Nor did I appreciate the way he used my full name.”

“Oh, come on, Johannes. We both know it’s because he dared utter a slight towards that fantastically large brain of yours. Saying you ‘might not be able to understand’ something, that’s a signed death warrant if I’ve ever heard one.”

Cabal would have bristled had his brother not been correct. “It’s getting early,” he said. “I’m heading back to my compartment.”

“Going to sleep off the murder, eh?” Horst clapped his brother on the shoulder and was promptly shaken off. “I’m going to do another round out there before turning in for the day.”

“Let me know if you find any more of those revolting Incubators.” Cabal paused mid-step. “Actually, don’t. Just break their necks and be done with it.”

Horst affected a low, patronising bow. “As you wish, dear brother.” A whisper, and he was gone.

Cabal clucked his tongue at the insolence and stalked back to his room.

Unbeknownst to them both, a pair of ruby red eyes loomed from the roof of the carriage.

It leapt down, sprinting through the darkness towards the stinking remains of its erstwhile twin. It greedily devoured what it could, chewing and slurping the flesh strewn about by the blast of the revolver.

When the corpse was no more, it carefully groomed the blood from its paws, and disappeared into the night.


End file.
